


Because I thought you should know

by fineandwittie



Series: And I'll call you by mine [3]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: M/M, Monet's Berm, Oliver's POV, Prompt Fill, Rewrite, The Berm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 10:25:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13568619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fineandwittie/pseuds/fineandwittie
Summary: Oliver struggles with pretty much everything and then Elio takes him to Monet's Berm.





	Because I thought you should know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laurentknows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurentknows/gifts).



> I didn't realize how long the Berm scene is in the film, which is the version I picked to rewrite. I added some of the bookverse stuff to it and filled in some gaps. I've been watching and rewatching Monet's Berm on youtube for like two days now and I've come to the conclusion that I can't finish this scene. I have no fucking idea what Oliver's inner monologue might look like for the rest of it, but I don't actually understand any of his actions. I think I need to see the movie again at least one more time. So, there might be a part two for this (to finish off the scene), but if there is, it won't be for a while.
> 
> As always unedited.

_Because I thought you should know._

I wanted to ring his neck. I wanted to wrap my fingers around his truth and squeeze until the truth poured out of him and I could make some sense of what the hell was going through his mind. _Because I wanted you to know_ was worse. 

The _things that matter_. I couldn’t tell if he was speaking in riddles on purpose to drive me insane or if he genuinely believed I understood what he was talking about.

What things that matter? His attraction to me? Love? Sex? His desire to be fucked or to fuck a man? 

I didn’t want to talk to him about any of it. I was not his mentor. I was not his brother. I was not his teacher. I sure as hell wouldn’t let him try to recast me into any of those rolls. I was…his nothing. He owed me nothing and I owed him the same.

The sharp ache that had settled permanently beneath my breastbone, the kind of twisted longing that resulted from being less than an arms length for the one that I desired so fiercely and being denied any chance at reaching out, it was not his problem. I wanted him to want me. I wanted him to like me, to be kind to me. 

I wouldn’t ever touch him again even he would simply spare me a smile. I would be satisfied with it. Instead I was offered riddles and half-truths, snide remarks and casual insults. I wanted to scream. To stand in the middle of the piazzetta near the war memorial and open my throat and let all of it out. The pain, the anger, the humiliation of being in the sway this callous and manipulative little wreck, the agony of seeing him with Marzia, the joy of spending time with him, the distraction of his body and his mind. The desire.

I couldn’t fit it all inside myself any longer, but I knew I could never let it out either. If I let it go, what would remain? What was left of me that wasn’t tied up in Elio anymore? I didn’t know and the very idea that I wasn’t sure sent my heart rabbiting so quickly it hurt.

He led the way and I let him. I had neither the focus or the energy to try and stop him. So I followed. And didn’t that speak volumes?

The spot was beautiful. That much I will admit. He claimed it was where Monet had painted and where he’d read more books than he could count. He was letting me into a special place of his. Had he realized how cruel he’d been these last few days? Was he trying to make it up to me? Or did he want me here? Inside his space that felt like being inside him? 

The thought made my pulse race and I could feel a flush creeping up my neck. The water from the spot I stood on the shore looked like glass, clear and lovely, but when I stopped off the edge into it, I nearly stumbled at how cold it was.

Like Elio himself. Beautiful from a distance, but if you venture too close, be sure not to stay too long because you might end up numb. The thought was bitter and unkind, but I was beyond kindness. Beyond caring how bitter I was growing. And the bitterness didn’t stop the rush of lust that came with watching his calves flex while he walked across this slippery stone riverbed.

I swallowed against a tight throat and crouched to splash some water on my face, run wet hands through my hair, anything to counter the flush I could feel rising again.

Why had he brought me here? It was so lovely and yet seemed…contrived somehow, after the conversation we’d had on the piazzetta. I watched him, hoping to get some glimpse, some indication of what he wanted. He stared back, lips parted and smooth curling in the beginnings of a grin. His eyes were bright and softer than I’d ever seen them.

I wanted to reach out and touch him, put my hands on his shoulders or cradle his face, just to have the connection between us. To share the warmth of his skin, to be close enough to smell him. I wanted to taste that pouting pink mouth, trace it with my fingers and my tongue to memorize its feel, and never stop kissing him.

I wanted, most, to fall to my knees before him, right here in the river. I wanted the water to make my knees go numb and the pebbles on the riverbed to cut me, maybe leave a scar or two. I wanted to be able to look up the length of his body, to know what the view would be from my place at his feet. I wanted to ease his suit down his hips and off. It could float around his calved in the water, brushing at my legs. I would lean forward so slowly that maybe he’d start squirming or maybe he’d sink his hands in my hair. 

God, I wanted to taste him. 

He kicks at the water, splashing me and breaking the haze of desire that had settled over me. He was not mine to taste. No matter how I wanted to interpret his cryptic statements, none of it would change the fact that he was not mine and he’s already made it abundantly clear that he did not want my touch. Even thinking of the volleyball game stung, so I pushed it all away and kicked back, catching the edge of his t-shirt with a splash of water.

He ducked away, smiling fully now.

 _Because I thought you should know._ and _Because I wanted you to know_ kept echoing in my head.

What this what he’d meant? 

“You know, Percy Shelley supposedly drowned a couple hours south of here. Being on the Berm always makes me think of him.”

“Wasn’t he the one whose heart they pulled from the fire?” I knew almost nothing about Shelley, especially compared to what I knew about his wife. The fact that Elio did surprised me not at all. I couldn’t stop the grin that stretched my mouth for all the world.

He nodded, a flick of his head at me. “Cor Cordium. Heart of hearts.”

I shivered, but whether from pleasure or premonition I couldn’t have said. Something felt momentous about those words. I liked the way his mouth shaped them.

“And what part of this place reminds you of him?”

He shifted on his feet for a moment and looked up into the trees. The pale column of his throat elongated and every part of my body ached with wanting him.

With knowing that I would never have him. 

"Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams, the blue Mediterranean, where he lay, lulled by the coil of his crystàlline streams.” He murmured at the sky. “Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own.”

I inhaled, almost a gasp but for my tight pressed lips. He looked back at me.

“It’s from Ode to the West Wind.” He shook his head, slow and deliberate. “All our leaves are falling, Oliver. The seasons change whether we like it or not. And there are still beautiful things to discover in winter.”

I nodded at him, a vague bob of my head as I tried to wrap myself around his words. Was he talking broadly or more narrowly? A kind of _carpe diem_ statement or was he once again inviting me to speak? Had we circled back around to where we’d begun the day?

I turned away, tongue-tied like I hadn’t been in years. After a moment indecision, I finally admitted, “I like the way you say thing.” 

I heard Elio shift behind me and added, “I don’t know why you’re always putting yourself down though,” in an attempt to preempt the derisive comment I knew would follow.

“So you won’t. I guess.” He sounded so…desolate. As though I’d devastated him without knowing it. 

Did he really care so much about me? About what I thought of him? Did he fear it? Did he not already know how much I would do for him, give to him? How much I’d worship him if he’d only left me?

He didn’t answer me when I pressed him on it. Just gazed thoughtfully at the riverbank before turning his eyes toward me. He met my gaze deliberately and it was like a shock of electricity through my body. I hadn’t realized how often he avoided meeting my eye until I had his undivided attention. He stepped up and put himself just inside my personal space, never breaking eye contact. 

My breathing stuttered. My mouth went dry. Was he going to push further? Would he kiss me? Or was this the extent of it? I couldn’t bear it…the look in his eyes, so open and vulnerable and with just the barest hint of mischief. I couldn’t bear the temptation of him, so close to me. 

Maybe I’d been wrong all along? Could the anger, the disgust I’d seen in him been directed inward? Had I accidentally caught his malice when I wasn’t its object? Did he…Could he possibly feel it too? This magnetism between us…this visceral and ferocious need that welled in me every time I looked at him.

When the curl of his grin widened into an actual smile, I broke. I couldn’t look at him any longer, couldn’t be held in this odd kind of status. I felt shivery and key up. My feet and calves were blue-black with the cold and if I didn’t walk away from his soon, I’d do something we’d both likely regret. 

“You’re making things very difficult for me.” I wanted to snatch the words back as soon as they left my mouth. I hadn’t meant to tell him that. I hadn’t meant to tip my hand in such a way.

I walked away, leaving the words behind me, but Elio lunged at my back. The momentum of the move had him pressed against my back and then sliding sideways. Acting on instinct more than conscious thought, I grabbed his hand and slipped an arm around his waist to keep him from tumbling into the water. 

He used his forward motion to swing around and into my arms, his own coming up around my neck. It was suddenly difficult to breath, with Elio there in my arms, grinning up at me.

I shook my head, pulled back from him, and climbed the bank to collapse into the grass. I didn’t care if he followed. My self-control was stretched to the breaking point and I knew that if we stayed here in this beautiful spot that felt so much like Elio, it would snap. 

My sanity wasn’t fairing much better than my self-control. I’d felt, nearly since the moment I arrived, like I was sitting on some great pendulum and, instead of keeping steady time, that pendulum was swinging wildly. I had never in my life before believed so many contradictory things in such quick succession. I found myself curiously sympathetic to Alice, who fell down the rabbit hole and believed six impossible things before breakfast. 

He left me dizzy, grasping for predictability or something equally stable as the rest of my world tipped and tilted. He was a sea-storm, all turbulent waters and raging winds and driving rains, and I’d never managed to gain my sea-legs. I could no more navigate his mercurial moods than I could my own emotions. My interior landscape these days was something of a jungle that had been set alight. 

I wondered how long it would take me to burn out or if the fire would simply rage all the rest of my life. I wondered if my lust would eventually burn out too. Of if, like a hunger that goes unsatisfied, it would consume my every waking thought. Elio had already invaded my dreams. 

He’d invaded my everything. He was my cor cordium. My heart of hearts and when I left here, I’d leave it behind with him. I wondered if he’d want it, worthless token that it was.

He dropped into the grass at my side and sprawled out. There was something loose and content in his posture, as though all the tension between us had fled, like something ugly had been excised from him.

He hummed a little and said, very quietly, “I love this, Oliver.” 

_I love you._ I thought to answer, before swallowing the words. 

I shut my eyes for a heartbeat, taking those words and boxing them away. “What?” Seemed the safest response.

“Everything.” And finally, in his voice, I heard _us_ and _you_ and perhaps _this moment on the Berm that is my body, which I have taken you into and wish you to stay forever._

And that fragile thread of self-control tore. I could hear the affection in my own voice when I corrected him. “Us, you mean.”

“Eh. It’s not bad. It’s not bad.” And he was taunting me again, but this time I could hear the smile behind the words. The taunt was not _you can never have this no matter how much your desire for it destroys you_ but instead, _Will you take it? Take what you long to take and make this moment perfect_.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not hugely pleased with this. I might do a re-write of it later, but I wanted to get it on here for my prompter :D
> 
> As always thanks for reading and drop me a line in the comments if you want to request/prompt a fic


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